Have you ever asked yourself what is real in your life and what is a facade?
Are you acting out what others expect of you? Are you taking on a persona that is only for others, until you are so used to living it that you almost forget it is only a construction for others?

Life is a succession of days, ended by death. One day brings life, and another, and another. One day brings death, and the day after is just like any other day.
We try to remember life's meaning in the face of death's certainty.

That is why we all wear masks. We have faces, but we wear masks.
Sometimes our faces become our masks. We wear masks that become our true faces.
There are masks for each of the emotions. Masks for joy and sadness, love and hate, satisfaction and frustration, courage and fear, hope and despair.
The masks conceal our true identity. The masks have their own meaning.
When we wear the masks, we separate outer appearance from inner reality.

What do you think?

Over the years, many of you have asked me, "How can I take better pictures.

Here are somethings to keep in mind when taking pictures:

1. Get Closer Most amateur's frame too far away from their subjects. Look through the viewfinder! This is especially important when photographing people. Professionals typically use long lenses (85-105mm) for portraits. Most point and shoot cameras on the other had have 35mm lenses.

2. Include People in your Shots The addition of people to pictures add atmosphere and context. It makes the subject easier to relate to and sometimes gives a sense of scale for small or large objects.

3. Capture Action Keep the people moving and try to ' catch the moment'.

4. Simplify the Composition Simple compositions are easier to understand. Uncluttered backgrounds offer less to distraction the viewer and allow them to focus on the subject material.

5. Put the Subject Off-Centred Try to place the main subject off the centre of the picture.Professionals use a ' rule-of-thirds' and place the main subject one third of he way across the frame. Why this works is not well understood, but it can be very effective.

6. Vary the Angle Can add humour and drama. Almost all photos are taken from eye level, but there are many other possibilities.

7. Put Foreground in Scenes Foreground detail gives depth to the shot and adds interest and context. It can also be used to frame the subject.

8. Pay attention to Lighting Where is the sun? Direct sun can give too much contrast but not enough light will lead to poor images and possibly camera shake. Light alone can ' make the shot'.

9. Use Flash Flash can be used to improve the lighting, even outdoors on dull days. But be aware the effective range is very limited. Adding additional natural light to a room will also make the effect look more natural.

10. Hold Still Camera movement spoils many otherwise great shots and is often mistaken for focus problems. Hold the camera steady - brace against objects. Flash can help to freeze the action.

Well there you have it, "the top ten".
These tips are not my own, but came to me by way of a old friend from St. Croix, Fritz Henle. http://www.fritzhenle.com/

Happy shooting! - Phil

Anyone who frequents the streets of lower Manhattan has seen him. He's not the sort of fellow who easily escapes eyes Like many who spend their days wandering big-city downtowns, he seems to carry all his possessions in the upright shopping cart he pushes along. It is a colorful and eclectic collection. Peeking out from within the wire grid are assorted pieces of clothing, cardboard boxes, plastic bottles, empty cans, newspapers, the flag of some unknown country, and other assorted detritus of a life lived on the street.


Unlike many other unemployed homeless, though, he never panhandles or even seeks eye-contact with passers-by. He just pushes along proudly, a look of satisfaction on his face — and a large, green, foam-rubber Statue of Liberty crown atop his head.


It's the crown that really makes him stand out, and which, along with his piled-high pushcart and resolute gait, makes the security dogs at the Staten Island Ferry terminal go berserk with barking at the sight of him. To be sure, one sees the occasional tourist with a similar headdress; the hats are popular souvenirs from nearby Liberty Island. But tourists wear them as kitsch, for photographs; to King Liberty, as I call the proud cart-pusher of Wall Street, it is clearly a diadem, a mark of royalty.


It is easy to dismiss the king as someone suffering from a mental illness, although "suffering" may be too strong a word, considering how content he seems. But what occurred to me when I recently saw him is that he is, at least from what one can know from observing him, not all that different from the rest of us, only perhaps a bit more transparent. After all, he's busy collecting stuff and exulting in the status he imagines can be gleaned from flimsy things.


Our own stuff might seem more practical than King Liberty's, but that's just a function of our personal perspectives. His possessions are every bit as valued by their owner as ours are by us. And our own crowns — be they fancy watches, designer clothes, BMWs, the latest model cell-phone, or corner offices with nice views — are really no more meaningful in the end than gaudy foam-rubber garlands.


And the rest of us collect our stuff and our status, just as King Liberty does his, in an effort to achieve respect, mistaking the counterfeit for the real thing.


But it's not. True honor comes from accomplishment, not acquisitions. It's not what we have or wear or drive that counts, but what we are.


And the rabbis of the Mishneh point to a particular aspect of life that is a key to respect. "Who is honored?" they ask in Avos, 4:1, "He who honors [G-d's] creatures."


At first glance, one might interpret that statement as a simple good strategy: honor others and they will return the favor. But that's hardly always true, and it is particularly untrue in our crass times, when cynicism and insults, aimed even at people who deserve the respect they themselves show others, are the coins of all too many realms.


The Hebrew words for "Who is honored?", however, might better be rendered "Who is honorable?" — who, in other words, is inherently, meaningfully worthy of honor, honored, if not by his fellows, by his Creator.


And more food for thought lies in the Mishneh's answer, "He who honors [G-d's] creatures." A proof-verse is offered, and it is laden with meaning: "As the verse says, 'For those who honor Me I will honor…'" [Samuel I 2:30].


On a simple level, the verse is invoked to show that since G-d Himself honors those who honor Him, surely we mortals should act similarly. But something else clearly lies in the verse's words — namely, that honoring others is itself an honoring of G-d. For man, after all, is created in the Divine image, and every human being — the word "creatures" is used pointedly — carries a spark of holiness within. Thus the famed Talmudic leader Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai, we are taught, would swiftly greet every person he met each day.


And so, the next time I spy King Liberty, who got me thinking about things in the first place, I will try to focus less on his hat than on what lies below it, and remember that he, no less than any of us, is worthy of honor. Because, royalty or not, he is the handiwork of the King of kings.

I like that! -Phil

Away from the shore where the sky meets the sea
there are dark clouds on the horizon
and the calm before the storm is calling out
to me
to take to the higher ground
a word to the wise is sufficient
and only a fool would ignore
and I have been a fool in these angry waves
so I'm turning my heart for the shore

most of my life I've heard a siren's song
whispering my name in the night time
and often as not I would follow along
forsaking the solid ground
but sailing through the unchartered waters
is not the life that it seemed to be
I would gladly trade this weathered sail
to be back where the land meets the sea

Master of my heart of mine
oh my Captain of the sea
You have calmed the angry in me


note: this poem will give you a clue, or a deeper look into my soul,
what I am about.
Warmly, Phil

Old man Time, 'e's wrote his log up in the wrinkles on my brow,
And there ain't that much about me as a girl 'ud take to now;
For I've changed beyond all knowing from the chap I used to be,
When I can remember Lydia, as was mighty fond o' me!

I can shut my eyes and see it just as plain as yesterday,
See the harbour and the mountains and the shipping in the bay,
And the town as looked like heaven to us shellbacks fresh from sea
And I can remember Lydia, as thought a deal o' me!

I can hear the chiming mule-bells, and a stave o' Spanish song,
And the blessed old guitarros as kep' tinkling all night long;
Hear the dusty palm trees stirring, taste the vino flat and sour,
And I can remember Lydia, and her white skirts like a flower.

But it's years now since I've seen her, if she's died I never knew,
Or got old and fat and ugly, same as Dagoes mostly do;
And it's maybe better that way, for there's nothing left but change,
And the ships I knew all going, and the ports I knew grown strange,
And the chaps I knew all altered, like the chap I used to be,
But I can remember Lydia, and she's always young for me.

"A life’s journey begins and ends with a single breathe bound by the limitations of each man’s intellect, while expanded by the scope of their imagination and compassion.

During this journey, accomplishments are judged as either fleeting moments or lasting imprints. Nonetheless, no one escapes the angst of his or her future –
no one has been promised his or her tomorrow.

Fortunately, I learned early in life that happiness is found in the complexity of life’s journey; that champions conquer through perseverance and passion, pose the unanswerable questions, and understand others through empathy.

With a little flexibility in our thought process, we have the power to make the journey one of little regret and much reward. Thus, there is no reason why one’s life should not leave an imprint."

Sincerely,
James Philip Pegg, Artist, illustrstor, & photographer.

I go by many names, my mum and some close friends call me Phil.

In the West Indies I am known as Capt'n Phil , was also known as Teacher, or Brother Phil, as it was in the Toledo Direst of Belize, where I taught school for several years.

In the art galleries, or as a illustrator, photographer, film maker, I use my full names, James Philip Pegg. and I sign all my art with my full name.

In the Spanish Church that I attend, I am known as Hermano Felipe.

And my old school mates called me, Peggy as they do to Dave Pegg ,the Singer, or Peggster, as they call Simon Pegg, the Actor.

There you have it! What your name again?

Love is another word for sharing. If you go out into and beyond the day with love in mind and heart, you are probably as close to life as you can ever hope to be.

Have a good week my friend, James

You can widen your life by yourself, but to deepen it you need a friend. Each encounter that becomes a friendship turns into a lifeline. One can never have too many, only too many to properly take care of.

Thinking of you this Morning, Phil

Over the past year it seems that dozens of artists have written something like:
"I don't have a lot of time so what's your all-time best tip?"

My answers varied depending on how I was feeling and what I was up to, but here,
I think, are a few of the best:

Be your own best coach, and follow her advice.
Keep busy while waiting for something to happen.
Let yourself fall in love with your processes.
Process wild dreams quickly and efficiently.
Teach yourself to think several things at once.
Treasure your idiosyncrasies and foibles.
Finish that one--then get on with the next.
Know that to begin is often better than to think.
Trust your quick muse and your snap decisions.
Never leave your easel empty.

Have a good one, Phil

One of my favourites Rock groups is The Lost Dogs. Here is one of their songs.

Breathe Deep (The Breath of God)
from the album "Scenic Routes"(Music and lyrics by Terry Taylor)

Politicians, morticians, Philistines, homophobes, Skinheads, Dead heads, tax evaders, street kids, Alcoholics, workaholics, wise guys, dim wits, Blue collars, white collars, war mongers, peace nicks

Chorus
Breathe deep, Breathe deep, the Breath of God, Breathe deep, Breathe deep the Breath of God

Suicidals, rock idols, shut-ins, drop outs, Friendless, homeless, penniless and depressed, Presidents, residents, foreigners and aliens, Dissidents, feminists, xenophobes and chauvinists

Chorus

Evolutionists, creationists, perverts, slum lords, Dead-beats, athletes, Protestants and Catholics, Housewives, neophytes, pro-choice, pro-lifeMisogynists, monogamists, philanthropists, blacks and whites

Chorus

Police, obese, lawyers, and government, Sex offenders, tax collectors, war vets, rejects, Atheists, Scientists, racists, sadists, Biographers, photographers, artists, pornographers

Chorus

Gays and lesbians, demagogues and thesbians,The disabled, preachers, doctors and teachers, Meat eaters, wife beaters, judges and jurys, Long hair, no hair, everybody everywhere!

Chorus
Breathe deep, Breathe deep, the Breath of God, Breathe deep, Breathe deep the Breath of God

Dear Phil, You seem to have the words that tell you about life - please tell me why when I’m surrounded by life but dying inside? Luv __________ from Puerto Rico

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear ____________, Hang in there. I hope it will be of some comfort for you to know that I don't have ALL the words and answers and neither does anyone else. One thing I've learned after a long lifetime of ups and downs is that bad times take their course. . things have a way of righting themselves. Besides if we didn't have the occasional cloudy day we wouldn't appreciate the sunshine.

With affection, Phil

Hope that your day is a good one! Blessings, Phil

You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. Don't let yourself indulge in vain wishes. -Rabindranath Tagore

I doubt your wait is anxious, but my own anxiety concerning letters left too long unanswered causes me to write straight back to you. I hope this note does not arrive amid too many empty canvases. If so, I remind you with brushstroke as with pen and paper it is always draught or downpour. In-betweens seem left for those who by necessity clock hours. There are times when I'd gladly practice fisticuffs with clocks, but never time clocks..

You say you want to paint, then do. Do not accept advice on how or why or even to what purpose. Art is its own reason; surely that applies to painting even more than word work. Writing, painting or whatever, the nouns and verbs of any art find their way to us and in proper order when the time comes. I am anyway certain that if we stay true to our visions, what comes of them will be honesty amplified.

You should not be afraid of being selfish. Most well meant invitations ought to be as unwelcome to the artist in us as noise, or what flows from us will be forever stops and starts. As always, alas, the best stuff stays in our heads refusing to be brokered at any price. We will never get it down onto paper or up on canvas. That worries me no more. I look upon what's left behind as seeds toward the next work. Never again do I want to walk away from a just-completed book totally empty of ideas. That kind of emptiness is a harder prospect that the thought of death and it's too hard jump-starting the next work without a little compost as a platform.

You say that you have burned some work. Good. Very good. You won't regret it later on. I once saved everything. No more. The hope that inspiration can be gotten back from some unfinished sentence or unwisely started work is false hope carried to the worst extreme - desperation. It will leave you beached and worse off every time.

I think about you and your work with increasing frequency. I picture you in that ramshackle country house not stoking stove with old canvases to stave off chill but looking so intently at the open frame it fills before you even rise to mix your colors. A piece of art ought to be nearly finished in our heads before we give our hands free reign. The truth will always have less ornamentation when what we have to say is more clearly thought-out ahead of time. It is all right if thought is just a hair ahead of brushstroke but giving the hand free reign is for finger painters. Disastrous for the artist. If someone tells you they are unsure where their hand is leading them beware and don't believe it; and I urge you to ignore other people's criticism. Your own will be hard enough.

How wise of you not to imagine yourself the next Picasso or Rouault but only you. Art is only what we bring to it and take from it as individuals. The copy of anything will never approach the original. Group thought like gang rape has no love in it, not any real passion or kindness. It is not enough to be good at our work, we must be good to it. It is a fine thing to be eagle-like and proud of what you do, but never so overbearing as to forget the work comes first - any celebration later. As banks cannot stop or prevent inflation, we cannot stop friends from inflating (or for that matter, deflating) our egos; we need not, however, aid and abet them. It is always dumb to believe in our own importance over the importance of our work.

Tennessee Williams used to say of painters, "Their posthumous reputations are much better than what they are." I do not find that thought overly critical. It isn't easy to have friends, many friends, and still be good at what you do. Friends give so much, but the payback expected or not, takes too much out of us. Saps energy that should have been conserved and ladled out as needed to work. For myself, I have spent too much time in public - not enough locked off and thinking with enough seriousness about what I do. If someone offered to embroider a sampler for my wall, I would ask that it read, "Stop and think." None of us stop enough. Almost none think as much as we should and few, if any, join both words with "and," and do it.

Finally, the sketch you sent me was superb. It is on my mantel, still unframed. I go out of myself at times to walk amid the woods you got on paper so well. I can smell their bark from across the room. When it's windy I close the window, fearful that your trees will lose some leaves. The way your light comes through those first few limbs and that clump of juniper where the path turns is a miracle new to me.

While I am flattered that you wrote to me for thoughts and some advice, I believe that you are far along in becoming an important painter. I envy your future; will use it as one more reason to stay alive as long as possible, hoping I can be part of it.

Your path through the woods is safe here, your letters find safe haven too. Courage. A friend ends letters to me with that word. None of us can have too much of it. Courage, and love till next time. -Phil

There are some forests that I have not known.
Some tree trunks I have never wrapped my legs around
and climbed.
A million branches I might have slid down
had I had the time.

Still
some leaves trembled in the wood and caught my ear.
Some twigs beneath the hooves of deer snapped
and signaled spring,
waking me from endless winter thoughts.

Warmly, Phil

Something tugs at me, I've no doubt of that. Something from the sea, whichever one I'm near. When I stray too far from beachland, it calls me back. -Phil

A compass is a small thing, trapped amid the panel’s instruments or resting in the hand. I am not sure any compass knows the truth - any more than all or any of us knows what’s real or facsimile. The needle hasn’t quivered, but I think the vessel’s changing course. Where it’s bound for I’m not sure, but it will go on pounding through the seas till every sea’s been sailed.

Call me or send a message in a bottle. I’ll be within the next port waiting. Always in the harbor, Capt'n Phil

A man bought a donkey from a preacher.
The preacher told the man that this donkey had been trained in a very unique way, (being the donkey of a preacher). The only way to make the donkey go, is to say, "Hallelujah!"

The only way to make the donkey stop, is to say, "Amen!"

The man was pleased with his purchase and immediately got on the animal to try out the preacher's instructions.

"Hallelujah!" shouted the man. The donkey began to trot. "Amen!"
shouted the man. The donkey stopped immediately.

"This is great!" said the man. With a "Hallelujah", he rode off very proud of his new purchase.

The man traveled for a long time through some mountains. Soon he was heading towards a cliff. He could not remember the word to make the donkey stop.

"Stop," said the man. "Halt!" he cried. The donkey just kept going.

"Oh, no...

'Bible...Church!...Please Stop!!," shouted the man. The donkey just began to trot faster. He was getting closer and closer to the cliff edge.

Finally, in desperation, the man said a prayer..."Please, dear Lord.

Please make this donkey stop before I go off the end of this
mountain, AMEN."

The donkey came to an abrupt stop just one step from the edge of the cliff.

"HALLELUJAH!", shouted the man.

"The months and days are the travelers of eternity. The
years that come and go are also voyagers. I too for years have
been stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the
wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming." (Matsuo Basho, 1644-1694)